


Nightswimming

by sherrinholmes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Butts, Comedy, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Intergluteal Sex, M/M, Mycroft's private pool house, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pool Sex, Reichenbach Feels, Reichenbach jokes, Sherlock likes annoying Mycroft and having sex with John, Top John Watson, Water Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 03:39:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3366362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherrinholmes/pseuds/sherrinholmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock raised a hand to his ear, pretending to hold what looked like an invisible bar of soap. Or a phone. This scene was beginning to look uncomfortably familiar. Sherlock took a final step towards the very edge. John watched in horror as Sherlock quoted his own last words.<br/>"Goodbye, John."<br/>The detective stretched out his arms as John had seen over and over in every nightmare since, and leaned until he was near parallel with the surface of the pool. Then, with a splash and a hard smack, Sherlock landed.<br/>He was going to kill him. He was going to actually kill him this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightswimming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Macdicilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macdicilla/gifts).



"Tell me again why we're breaking into Mycroft's private pool house?" John asked, watching Sherlock slide the stolen ID card up and down until the indicator light turned green.

"You know why."

Sherlock pushed the door open and they stepped from moonlit concrete onto artificially-lit posh tile flooring.

"No, I know that we aren't here for a case, and I know that you're probably only doing this to spite Mycroft, but you usually have other reasons besides that."

"Usually," Sherlock replied offhandedly as he led them to the changing area.

But not always, John finished in head as he watched Sherlock disappear into a cubicle.

"You mean to tell me we broke in--"

"We used a key."

"Just to annoy your brother? Do you even know how to swim?"

"Don't be daft, John. Of course I do. Mycroft, on the other hand, looks like a drowning pig. Besides, the last time we visited a pool wasn't exactly a pleasant experience for either of us. I think it's time to remedy that, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yeah, I suppose. And Mycroft's a twat anyhow, I bet he never even uses this pool."

"Precisely. Now, swim shorts on, John!" 

John left his cubicle to find Sherlock already in the pool, his dark curls slicked back, head bobbing just above the water. And under the water, well, John really shouldn't have been surprised by the man's choice of swim suit, yet he couldn't help but stare. Sherlock was wearing a bloody _speedo_. John walked to the edge of the in-ground pool and slid in, slowly adjusting to the water temperature. Sherlock, of course, must have decided it was a good time to test out the diving board, so John got a full view of the exact shade of purple Sherlock's speedo was. Where does a bloke even find a plum coloured speedo? Eyebrows raised, he watched as Sherlock climbed the ladder and walked to the edge of the diving board.

"John, stay where you are."

"Not going anywhere."

"Keep your eyes fixed on me."

"Right. Go ahead, I'm watching."

Sherlock raised a hand to his ear, pretending to hold what looked like an invisible bar of soap. Or a phone. This scene was beginning to look uncomfortably familiar. Sherlock took a final step towards the very edge. John watched in horror as Sherlock quoted his own last words.  

"Goodbye, John."

The detective stretched out his arms as John had seen over and over in every nightmare since, and leaned until he was near parallel with the surface of the pool. Then, with a splash and a hard smack, Sherlock landed.

He was going to kill him. He was going to actually kill him this time.

John's hands were already balled into fists by the time Sherlock had resurfaced.

"That was surprisingly painful," Sherlock noted, taking a breath.

"Serves you right, you bastard." John fired back, stepping closer while planning just how he was going to exact his revenge.

"It wasn't supposed to hurt." He'd push him under the water, John thought. Or splash him. No, both. Definitely both.

"It's called a belly-flop, and it is if you're a right wanker who reenacts his own death scene in front of his friend," said John, taking a few final steps forward until he was within arms-length of Sherlock. With all his might John sent a wave of water towards Sherlock’s face and tackled him under the surface. Sherlock struggled beneath him, managing to escape his grasp and resurface.

“John,” Sherlock gasped for breath, “that was so six years ago.”

Pool water splashed up around them as John once again submerged them both. This time, when they came up for air, Sherlock splashed him back in earnest, wrestling John towards the shallow end of the pool. Because of his shorter height, John had struggled in the deeper waters where Sherlock was able to stand easily with head and neck above the surface. The lower water level left Sherlock with less of an advantage, and John was quick to make up for the lost ground. He moved willingly towards the shallow end, splashing Sherlock’s precious cheekbones with each step. He didn’t actually realise he was grinning until Sherlock glared and said:

“Careful, John, or you won’t be smiling for much longer.”

With that, Sherlock wrapped a leg around one of John’s own, and with a quick shove, pushed him backwards into the knee-deep water. Sherlock stood triumphantly over him, using his feet to kick more water onto John.

“Ah, winning does feel rather glorious, doesn’t it?” Sherlock said from above, and all John wanted to do was either punch or kiss that damned smirk off of Sherlock’s face. John moved to stand, but Sherlock, ever quick to react, pushed him back down with a foot to his face. The last thing John saw before he once again went under the water was Sherlock’s wry smile, filled with silent laughter.

As John lifted his head from the water, sputtering, Sherlock fell atop him and pressed his mouth against John lips. Which, John had to admit, was a bit of a pleasant surprise.

“Mm” Sherlock hummed. “Chlorine.”

“You’re an utter twat, you know that?” John pulled him closer. “And, if you think you’re getting out of this with a kiss, you’re mistaken.”

“Oh, not just a kiss,” Sherlock replied with a dangerous grin, straddling John's hips.

“What then?”

"Pool sex, John."

"Pardon?" John asked, already feeling aroused at the thought.

"Sex. In a pool. I've always wanted to try it."

"Yes, right, I know what it is."

“Well,” Sherlock leaned in for a kiss, “get on with it then.”

John opened his mouth to the kiss, his hands gliding down Sherlock’s sides to the waistband of his speedo. He slipped his hands beneath the purple material, guiding Sherlock’s hips towards his own. Sherlock’s fingers, previously threaded through John’s hair, moved to the drawstring of John’s swim shorts, undoing the knot there and pushing the shorts down with practised ease. He wrapped one hand loosely around John’s cock, his other hand working to slide his own swim suit off.

“Sherlock,” John exhaled, shifting to lean against the pool wall behind him.

“Yes John?” Sherlock replied, pausing the movement of his hands.

John glared, then, after Sherlock did not resume his previous ministrations, asked:

“How in hell did you manage to find a plum-coloured speedo?”

“Simple,” Sherlock replied, giving John’s cock one lazy stroke, “I shopped online.”

With a short laugh, John pulled Sherlock closer still, pelvis pressing up into Sherlock's hand.

“Why?” Sherlock asked, pushing the speedo further down his hips. “Do you like it?”

John may or may not have growled with frustration, but he certainly did lunge forward to press his lips messily against Sherlock’s, teeth biting Sherlock's bottom lip. After a few moments, Sherlock pulled back.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

And no, John wouldn’t call himself sexually frustrated, but he certainly would be quick to call Sherlock sexually _frustrating_.

Thankfully, Sherlock had decided then was the opportune time to take both his and John’s cock in his hand, though doing so provided little relief. If Sherlock wanted pool sex, they should be having pool _sex_. Not pool hand-jobs, which were enjoyable, but markedly inferior.

“Sherlock.” This time, John said it a bit more than breathlessly.

“Hmm?”

“Stand up.” Sherlock looked at John questioningly. “You said pool sex, yeah?”

Sherlock stood, sliding his speedo off and letting it sink to the floor of the pool. John did the same with his shorts, and while doing so leaned forward to kiss the long, pale column of Sherlock’s neck, stopping to nibble softly on his earlobe.

“Now turn around, please,” John murmured.

Sherlock turned to face the edge of the pool, and John placed a hand on his back, slowly bending Sherlock at the waist. His head and torso remained above water whilst his hips remained submerged. John then reached around and began sliding his thumb just over the tip of Sherlock's cock. Sherlock was clearly aroused, pre-cum quickly coating John’s hand, and John was enjoying every moment of it. The pool water, which was not exactly slippery, slowed the movements of his hand considerably. While bath water was warm, and somewhat similar, the lukewarm chlorinated pool water had its own charms. Lubrication, unfortunately, was not one of them.

"John?" Sherlock turned his head to the side and tried very hard not to pant. "I didn’t bring lube.” Before John could ask why the ever-loving hell not, Sherlock clarified. “Ours doesn’t mix well with--" John began to kiss and nip at Sherlock's neck, "ah, water--" John closed his fist around Sherlock's cock, "it… _ngh_ , washes off," Sherlock gasped.

"Right," said John calmly, pressing his hips against Sherlock's arse, "no penetration."

At that, Sherlock groaned.

"Problem? This was your planning, after all," John reminded him, pressing his cock between Sherlock's buttocks. Sherlock arched his back in response, his fingers grabbing at the edge of the pool for support.

"John... _Move_."

John smiled and began rocking his hips at a rather slow pace, amused by Sherlock's eloquent demand. John gave Sherlock's cock one final stroke, then placed his hands just below Sherlock's waist. He quickened his movements slightly, the thrusting motions making small waves and splashes in the water. Already, his breaths were short and uneven. John shut his eyes, biting back a moan.

"Sh-Sherlock, God, you're fantastic." He pulled him closer, "You're still, an-- ah, arse, but you're a fantastic arse."

"Mm, an arse you love," Sherlock smiled, panting heavily. John lifted a hand to ruffle Sherlock's curls and run his fingers across Sherlock's heated back. Then, cupping his hand, John scooped water from the pool and poured it gently down Sherlock's spine. Sherlock gasped, his shoulders rolling back. John chuckled, kissing the drops from Sherlock's skin. With each downward stroke against Sherlock's very fantastic arse, John's cock came closer to brushing against Sherlock's arsehole. The feeling was extremely enjoyable for John, and there was no doubt Sherlock was experiencing the same sparks of pleasure, as he had become much more vocal with every slide of skin against skin.

"Yes, John-- there, again. Do that _again_."

"Hm. Mm, alright."

Sherlock had begun to rock back with each thrust of John's hips, his breathing shaky and voice low. John quickened the pace, rolling his hips and reaching to caress Sherlock's cock once more. He ran his thumb along the underside and rubbed Sherlock's perineum with his fingers.

"F-fuck," Sherlock groaned.

"Sherlock--" John moaned in response. The warmth which had started at his groin began to spread throughout his body. His hips jerked sporadically, cock pressed hard against Sherlock's arse. With a loud moan, John stilled and his climax overtook him. Sherlock continued to rut back against him roughly, joining John's hand on his cock to finish stroking himself to orgasm. Exhausted, they both slipped down to sit the floor of the pool, chests just above water. Sherlock gently rested his head on John's shoulder, and John leaned his head to rest it atop Sherlock's. The temperate waters moved slowly around them. After some time had passed, Sherlock turned to him and asked:

"How do you feel about library sex, John?"


End file.
